No Man's Bride (3 page)

When she stood, she was nearer his height, and he was able to look directly into her eyes. They were much darker than her sister’s. He guessed them to be brown. And her hair. It was the thickest, darkest coil he had ever seen. There was the scent of peach wafting toward him again, and for one moment, he thought her beautiful—far more beautiful than her sister—and then the moment passed and he wondered how he could ever have compared the two.

“My lord, I will not keep you, but I would be remiss in my duty as a fellow human being if I did not warn you against marrying Elizabeth.”

“Your duty as a fellow human being?” Quint said through clenched teeth. “What about your duty as a sister?”

She laughed again, and this time he had difficulty resisting the impulse to throttle her.

“I owe Elizabeth no duty, I assure you. She is a spoiled, demanding little shrew, as you will see for yourself. Do not say I did not tell you so. Now, if you will, please leave me alone.”

“Gladly.”

She made a gesture that he supposed was meant to dismiss him, and as he was more than eager to oblige her, he started for the doors to the ballroom. At the last minute, he turned back. “It seems to me”—Caroline? Claudette?—“madam, that you, not your poor sister, are the shrew. I pity your family and the man you marry.”

She laughed again, and he turned away from her—vexing how often and inappropriately the chit laughed—but he paused when she called, “You are absolutely correct, sir. I am a horrible shrew. Tell all of your friends. Take an advertisement out in the
Times
. I won’t relinquish my hand without a fight!”

As soon as Valentine entered the ballroom, Catherine began to shake. To calm her nerves, she began to count. The predictability of the numbers always soothed her.

Twelve, thirteen, fourteen…

Even counting wasn’t calming her nerves at this point. She had almost been caught. She’d tied Elizabeth up and left her in the bushes, and Valentine had almost caught her.

Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen…

She began to shake anew, thinking of the way she had spoken to him. She was not a rude person, but desperate times and all that. The problem was that not only had she been rude, she’d been critical. What had gotten into her? She was usually such a nice girl. Oh, she hoped she never saw Valentine again.

And yet what else could she do? Lord knew she didn’t care whether or not he married Elizabeth. He seemed the sort of man who was unlikely to be swayed by someone like her at any rate. But she’d had to at least delay the nuptials. She needed time to plan her escape.

Catherine rushed back over to the shrubs where she’d left Elizabeth and peered over the edge. She could just make out her sister’s golden hair and white gown in the thick foliage. Lizzy was staring up at her. Catherine would have liked to give her a three-fingered wave and skip off, but she could not be that cruel.

“I’ll come back for you when Valentine is gone,” she called. Lizzy shook the bushes and said something, but with the gag in her mouth, Catherine couldn’t understand.

“I’ll be back,” she promised and headed toward the ballroom to keep an eye on Valentine. She stopped just before entering to give herself a moment to rally her courage. The room was full.

No, to say the room was
full
was like saying the old king George was just a little bit off. The
room was brimming over, and George III was mad as a loon.

Catherine tried to calm herself by reflecting on the fact that with so many people crushed together inside, there were many other people far more interesting to look at than she. No one would care about her.

Unfortunately, she also detested small, tight spaces, and she could see nowhere in the room that would afford her any space to breathe.

Taking a last deep breath of freedom, she plunged inside and squeezed through as best she could, searching for Valentine. Not that she wanted to speak to him. She just wanted to make sure he didn’t decide to return to the balcony to investigate the rustling bushes further.

“Where have you been?” Her father’s fetid breath hit her cheek, and his rough hand grasped the tender flesh of her upper arm. “Why aren’t you dancing?”

“I—” she began, but he shook her violently, and she could not finish. Catherine could only be thankful they were in public, else he would have done far worse than shake her.

“I told you to find a husband.”

She stared at him, at his small black eyes and large red nose with the broken blood vessels. How she hated him sometimes.

“You’ve sat on your arse and lived off my largesse long enough,” he continued. “I’ll have you
married before my Elizabeth, or you’ll know the back of my hand.”

“Then I suppose you’d best release me so I can simper and flirt. Or are you going to make a scene? I can imagine how that will influence my chances.”

“Little hoyden,” he spat. “I’ll be glad to be rid of you.”

And then the bruising hold was gone, and her father disappeared through the crowd. Catherine’s brave façade shattered, and her teeth began to clatter.

One, two, three…

The noise and the heat from the crowd in the Beauforts’ ballroom seemed to press in on her. She tried to gulp air and could not.

Four, five, six…

Her heart began to pound, and her throat closed up. She had to escape. Ever since she’d been a small child, she’d had a fear of loud noises and tight places. The night her cousins had rescued her from the closet under the stairs had not been her last confinement there. And her father, whether sober, drunk, or depressed at having lost at dice, always found her pitiful cries amusing.

But she could not cry here and now. She had to get out. She had to have space and air to breathe. Edmund Fullbright would not be pleased if she escaped back onto the veranda at the first opportunity. Her only hope was that he would be not
be sober enough to know anything a half an hour from now. She’d smelled the alcohol on him, and it penetrated his every pore. Soon, he would be too drunk even to remember her name. Catherine was counting on that fact as she squeezed through the room and into the foyer.

By the time she made it through the crush, she was perspiring and pulling in short, panicked breaths. She felt dizzy, and her chest was constricting, and just when she feared she would pass out, she felt a familiar hand on her shoulder.

“Catie, are you well? Oh, no. You’re not. Quick. Sit down.”

She was led to a chair against the wall and encouraged to take deep breaths. A footman was sent running for a glass of wine, and then that was thrust under her nose as well. She drank a small sip, then looked up to see Josephine standing over her.

Josie bore the closest resemblance to the picture of a pixie that Catherine had ever seen. With her cropped auburn hair, pulled back by combs into a wispy crown about her head, her small pointed nose, and her perpetually mischievous smile, Josie looked like trouble.

And she was.

Her only saving grace was her huge, dark green eyes. They were fringed with long, dark lashes, and tilted upward. When Josie wielded her eyes, no one could stay angry at her long.

“All right now?” Josie asked, those green eyes full of concern.

Catherine, her voice still not recovered, nodded.

Josie shook her head. “Why do you do this to yourself, Catie? You hate these things. Why not just stay home?”

Catherine swallowed another portion of wine.

“Now, take a deep breath. There is nothing to fear here. You just need a bit—”

“Of confidence. Yes, that’s what you always say.” Her voice was raspy but strong. Catherine took another sip. “I’m in trouble, Josie. I can’t go back through there, so you shall have to go outside and untie Elizabeth. I left her in the bushes beneath the veranda.”

Josie’s eyes widened. “What?”

“I wanted to keep her away from her fiancé, but as it was, I was almost caught. By
him
.”

Josie blinked at her, and then erupted into a fit of laughter. “Oh, this is too much. Are you telling me that right now your evil sister is tied up and sitting in the bushes beneath the veranda?”

Catherine nodded.

“And that when you were tying her up, her own fiancé almost caught you?”

“I was climbing back onto the balcony, and Elizabeth was still thrashing around. It’s not a long drop, and he heard her. I think I managed to convince him it was a dog, but what if he goes back out?”

“Who cares? I say we leave her there until morning. Maybe the gardener will find her.”

“Josie, we can’t!”

“The little wretch stole my grandmother’s earrings and won’t give them back. I hope she gets frostbite.”

“Oh, no! It’s not that cold outside, is it?”

Josie smiled and plopped down next to Catherine in the chair. “No. I was joking. Maddie told me about Lord Valentine and Lizzy. How did your thief of a sister manage to win him?”

“Her charm, I’m sure.”

“What charm?” Josie took the glass from Catherine and swallowed its contents. “It’s a tragedy. Lord Valentine is so handsome. I would have thought Lizzy’s betrothed would have two heads and three arms.”

“No, only one head that I saw.” And a very nice head at that, Catherine thought. A very nice everything. He was tall, taller than she by several inches, broad-shouldered but not so broad that his chest reminded her of a tree trunk, and his eyes were the loveliest shade of brown—a polished mahogany color that she could get lost in.

Not that she intended to get lost in the man’s eyes—or any man’s eyes for that matter. At twenty, she was an avowed spinster. If Elizabeth wanted to marry the man, bear his cuffs and smacks when he drank too much and cry when
he stayed out all night with whores, leaving her and her children home alone, then that was Elizabeth’s concern. Not hers.

Unless she didn’t delay Elizabeth’s marriage.

“Josie, I need your help.”

Josie laughed. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“You’d better wait until you hear me out before you agree. I have to take drastic measures.”

Josie’s eyes lit. “Oh, now, this will be too much fun. How drastic?”

“I have to escape my father, escape London before Lizzy and Valentine marry. If I don’t, I’ll be forced to marry as well.”

“I see.” Josie rolled the empty wineglass in her hands. “It’s a wonderful idea, but we don’t have any money.”

“What about your grandfather’s pirate treasure?” Catherine whispered, aware that Josie didn’t like to speak in public about the treasure. “What if we found the treasure? You could lend me a tiny bit—just enough to help me escape to America—and then once I got my feet under me, I’d pay you back.”

Josie looked surprised at the suggestion but not opposed. “It might work,” she said after several long seconds of uncharacteristic contemplation. “But I’ll need time to find the map and figure out where to start searching.”

“How much time?” Catherine grabbed Josie’s arm. “I’m running out.”

“Then you’ll have to make more. Keep Valentine and Lizzy apart a bit longer, and in the meantime, ward off your father’s potential suitors for you.”

“Ward them off? How? He’s probably paid any suitors he’s found, and, as you pointed out, I don’t have any money.”

Josie rolled her eyes. “Just be unsuitable. Suitors don’t like unsuitable girls.”

When Catherine still looked blank, Josie added, “Be horrible and nasty—the kind of woman no man would want to marry.”

“But how do I do that?”

Josie slung an arm around her neck. “Act like Lizzy. The
real
Lizzy.”

“G
et out here right now, Catherine Anne,” her father shouted from the other side of her bedroom door. Catherine quaked at the sound of anger in his voice. She did not like to anger her father, but she had no choice. Just as she’d anticipated, he’d brought three of his own handpicked suitors home this afternoon, and the men were waiting to meet her in the drawing room. Well, they were going to have to wait. She wasn’t going down there.

Her father pounded on the door again, and Catherine jumped.

One, two, three…

Oh, he was going to beat her for this. She’d be
black-and-blue for weeks. What had Josie told her to do?

Play the shrew. That’s it. Josie had assured her that was the only way to run the men off and ensure they would not want to marry her.

“Catherine Anne!” her father bellowed.

Four, five, six…

What would a shrew say? “Go away!” she called, leaning with all her weight against the door. He banged again, and her whole body inched forward, but the triangle of wood she’d wrenched under the door held. Barely.

“Get out here right now, little—dear.” His voice sounded high and false, and Catherine knew he was trying to impress her suitors with his fatherly kindness.

Well, she was trying to unimpress them. To that end, she screamed, “I’m never coming out!” That didn’t seem like quite enough, so, knowing it would mean more misery later, she added. “I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to!”

“Why you ungrateful—” Her father’s voice cut off, and Catherine pressed one ear to the door to hear why. Were the suitors running off to court sweeter, more docile brides?

She couldn’t hear the men, but she thought she heard Elizabeth’s voice. Then she heard her father move away, and there was a light tap on the door.

“Catherine, open the door. It’s me, Elizabeth.”

Catherine considered. It could be a trick.

“Catherine, open the door. It’s my room, too.”

Still, Catherine hesitated. She had heard her father move away, and it wasn’t as though Elizabeth could make her go down.

“Catherine, if you don’t open this door, you’ll be sorry later,” Lizzy warned. Considering Catherine had had to bribe Lizzy to keep her mouth shut about the events at the Beaufort ball by giving Lizzy the only thing Catherine had of value, the jewelry their grandmother had left her, she could not afford to anger Lizzy again. Especially when her father was in a bad mood with her and inclined to grant Elizabeth any favor she asked. Next thing she knew, Lizzy would have Catherine sleeping in the attic.

Catherine removed the wood brace and moved away. Elizabeth opened the door. She was dressed as though she was the one with three suitors waiting downstairs. In addition, to the sapphire jewelry Catherine had been forced to give her, Elizabeth wore a light blue cambric day dress with a fluted ruff. Despite the fact that the style was from last year, Elizabeth looked fresh and new in it. If only people would look past her pretty face and figure and see the true Elizabeth. Behind those cornflower blue eyes lay only malice and temper.

She put her hands on her hips and frowned at Catherine, who wore an old, stained brown work dress. “Catherine! No wonder you didn’t want to open the door. You look a fright—as usual.
Change and come downstairs. Daddy has three men here to see
you
.”

She spoke the last word as if she were truly awed that any man would be interested in her sister, even though they all knew her father was offering her up to the highest bidder. As the niece of an earl, she could offer breeding and connections to wealthy merchants who had money but no other means of moving into the upper classes.

“And if you don’t come down soon, I might just steal them away from you. And unlike your sorry attempt with Valentine at the Beaufort ball, I will succeed.”

“Go ahead,” Catherine said, sitting on her bed.

“Why, I think all three are half in love with me already. What will Lord Valentine say?”

“Who cares?”

“You do. You tied me up to keep me away from him. But he sent a note to say he’d come today. Are you jealous that he won’t give me up so easily?”

“Not at all, and I’m not going downstairs. You can have them all.”

If they wanted Elizabeth, then they wouldn’t be interested in her. On the other hand, what had her father promised these men to get them here? If they were after money, they might not be so easily dissuaded.

Catherine glanced at her sister. Well, she would have to dissuade them. Lizzy was looking in the
mirror, adjusting her gown and babbling on. “But you haven’t even met them. Here. You can borrow my old blue ribbon if you want.” She pawed through the litter of items on her dressing table—actually there was only one, and the two girls were supposed to share it, but Elizabeth never allowed Catherine near it—and pulled a long length of blue satin ribbon from under a comb and straw bonnet. “You should do something to get that ugly mop of hair out of your face.”

“I don’t want the ribbon,” Catherine said, holding up a hand. “I want the men to go away.”

Elizabeth turned back to the mirror. “No matter. It wouldn’t suit you anyway. Perhaps I should try it. Everyone will be complimenting my eyes.”

But Catherine had other ideas for the ribbon. While Elizabeth stared at her own reflection and pinched her cheeks, Catherine crept off the bed and started for her. A moment later, she grabbed Elizabeth and pulled the ribbon from her grasp.

But Elizabeth didn’t let go. She let out an angry yelp and yanked it back, turning slightly in an effort to use her weight to win the battle. Her elbow thrust out and knocked over a lamp, and it crashed to the floor.

“What the hell was that?” he father called, and Catherine smiled. Already, the plan was working. But the ribbon would not be enough.

She ran to the windows and yanked the cords
off the drapes so that they fell, shading the room. The cords were thick and strong. Perfect restraints.

“What are you doing?” Elizabeth said, backing up now. “You’d better not tie me up again. Daddy will beat you if he finds out about the Beaufort ball.”

“He’ll beat me anyway.”

“I can make it worse.”

Catherine was going to have to risk it. “Come here.”

Elizabeth tried to run, but she didn’t move fast enough. Catherine tackled her to the floor and began binding her sister’s arms.

Elizabeth let out another squeal, and their father called, “What in the devil is going on up there?”

“Help!” Elizabeth called when her attempts to fight were rendered futile. “She’s got me!”

And to her surprise, Catherine found herself laughing. She pulled the cords tighter, immobilizing Lizzy’s hands behind her back. Then she tied a knot so tight it would have to be cut to free her sister. She jumped back, and Elizabeth immediately scrambled to her knees.

Catherine heard her father coming up the stairs, and she locked eyes with the imprisoned Elizabeth. Lizzy stuck out her tongue. “Now you’re in for it.”

And that was all it took. Catherine ran to the door, jammed the block of wood under it, and then advanced on her sister, hands raised, fingers
curled in tickling position. “That’s what you think.”

Quint heard the screams even before he’d reached the house. They were horrible, bloodcurdling screams that surely meant someone was being murdered.

He jumped off his horse, didn’t even bother to tie the gelding to the post, and ran to the Fullbrights’ front door. He pounded away, all the while her screams—and he was now convinced they were Elizabeth’s—echoed around him.

Someone inside the house must have heard him pounding because a young man opened the door. He was wearing his hat and holding his walking stick, apparently intent on departure, but Quint didn’t pause to ask questions. He took the steps two at a time and found two other men in the drawing room. They were standing, holding hats and gloves and looking pale with discomfort.

“Where is she?” Quint asked first one man, then the other.

They shook their heads, but one of the two men, a gent who had to have been at least sixty, said, “They’re in her bedroom. Her father’s gone—”

Quint turned to race up the next set of steps, but the sound of thundering cattle on the staircase gave him pause. Not that he had ever heard thundering cattle, but he imagined they sounded
like the god-awful racket coming toward the drawing room.

“Help! Help! She’s killing me!”

Quint and the other two men jumped out of the way just as Elizabeth and her sister Charity—no, that couldn’t be right—barreled into the room. Elizabeth’s foot caught on the hem of her dress, and both of the girls went sprawling. When they stopped tumbling over one another, Elizabeth began howling again. Was her older sister beating her or—

Wait. She was tickling Elizabeth. Tickling her unmercifully, true, but tickling the girl so that her screams were actually high-pitched giggles.

The girls’ parents burst into the room next, the father laying rough hands on the elder and pulling her off her younger sister, who looked about, saw the men and Quint, in particular, and began to bawl. Quint took a step back from the force behind the tears. The girl had a healthy pair of lungs.

Meanwhile, her older sister was flailing about, her black hair flopping in her face, while her father attempted to hold her still. “Settle down, Catherine.”

Quint smiled. Ah, that’s right. Her name was Catherine.

“Let. Me. Go.” And then she sank her teeth into her father’s arm.

Quint saw it coming and winced. Her father, in the meantime, barked and threw his rabid daugh
ter off him. She went sprawling, landing on her bottom. But unlike her sobbing sister, now ensconced in her mother’s arms, Catherine did not so much as gasp. She picked herself up off the floor, lifted the torn and dusty hem of her brown dress, and strode regally toward the armchair, whereupon she took a seat. She straightened her irreparable dress, shoved a heap of black hair from her face, and blinked at the two men standing beside Quint.

“My father says you want to see me,” she said, tone low and dangerous.

“Not I,” said the first man, a chap in a black suit, holding a balled apron in one hand. “I must be going.”

“I’ll join you,” the older man said, and the two practically flung themselves down the stairs.

“But wait. She’s really a good girl. Very obedient,” Edmund Fullbright called, going after them.

Mrs. Fullbright looked at Quint. “Lord Valentine, please do sit down. You mustn’t leave. This is all just a”—she glared at her elder daughter—“misunderstanding. If you’ll give us just one moment to collect ourselves.”

She put an arm about Elizabeth, helped her up, and the two limped, arms wound tightly around each other toward the stairs to the family’s private chambers. Catherine made to follow, but her mother saw her and hissed, “Get away, you ungrateful devil. I ought to beat you myself for this.”

So the elder sister made her way back to the chair in the drawing room while mother and younger daughter disappeared up the steps. Quint felt a twinge of pity for Catherine, but it didn’t last long. The chit had been behaving abominably. She deserved to be scolded, though if he’d had a daughter, he doubted he would ever have used such words on her.

Catherine took her seat again, and the look she gave him dried all words of sympathy from his tongue. She didn’t want his pity. And so instead, Quint made her a bow. “Wonderful show, Miss Fullbright. When is the next performance?”

She scowled at him, but he could see she was relieved that he hadn’t tried sympathy.

“You think me entertaining, sir?” A lock of hair had fallen forward and she brushed it back again.

“Immensely.” He gestured to the chair opposite her. “May I?”

“I don’t care what you do,” she answered, looking away.

“You were only too full of advice when we met at the Beaufort ball last week,” Quint reminded her. He looked about the room, taking in the dilapidated furnishings, the cheap knickknacks, and the general gloomy atmosphere. If he’d wondered why the Fullbrights had put their seventeen-year-old daughter on the marriage mart so quickly or why they’d jumped at his proposal, the answer was patently clear.

The Fullbrights needed money. Obviously, Edmund Fullbright decided what was good for one daughter was equally good for the other.

“I can only assume the three men I encountered here were meant to woo you.”

She gave him a narrow-eyed glare, and he almost laughed. The three men he saw earlier couldn’t handle a spirited girl like Catherine. Even if much of that spirit was for show, she was no shrinking violet.

“I do not think you’ll be receiving any proposals from those three.” He motioned to the stairs. “I think you may have even frightened them away.”

“Good,” she said. “If only I could now frighten you away, my work would be complete.”

He grinned. “Unlikely. I spend much of my time in Parliament with Tories screaming their lungs out, promising to incite my constituents to violence against me. I think I can handle a little girl’s tirade.”

Her jaw dropped at that. She did not like being called a little girl or having her efforts belittled.

He was about to speak again, when he saw the blood trickle onto her lower lip. Without thinking, he rose and bent over her. Immediately, she pulled back, as though she expected a blow.

“I’m not going to hurt you. Come here.” He reached for her chin, but she leaned farther back.

“Please. I’d prefer you didn’t touch me.”

“Yes, well, you’re bleeding. At least take my
handkerchief, so you don’t stain—” He looked at her old, dirty dress. “Just take it.” He pressed the cloth into her hand and watched her dab her lower lip with it.

She touched her lip, drew the cloth away, saw the blood, and replaced the handkerchief. She looked up at him briefly, and said, “Thank you.”

Looking directly into her eyes, he was momentarily at a loss. They were the eyes of a lioness— deep, golden brown hazel, wide set, and startlingly clear against her olive complexion. One reason Quint had chosen Elizabeth was because she possessed the prized blond hair, blue eyes, porcelain skin, and petite form that were currently in fashion. But it was no hardship on him to do so.